


Private Universe

by Darthanne



Series: Private Universe [1]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-25
Updated: 2010-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-12 21:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darthanne/pseuds/Darthanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An undercover mission becomes personal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Misanagi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misanagi/gifts).



> Author's notes: This started life as a 'make up a fic summary for something you haven't written' meme on LJ. I then wrote the first scene as a stand-alone ficlet for a SDQB 444 prompt (which is why it might be familiar). Misanagi stalked for more and made me an offer I couldn't refuse, writing me a wonderful Quatre whumping fic called 'Live to Tell' in exchange for this.
> 
> Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency. I promise to return the characters in one piece, more or less, when I'm finished, but hold no liability for any physical injury or psychological trauma sustained by them in my fiction.
> 
> Thanks to: Lil and Misanagi for beta reading.
> 
> / / indicates thoughts

**Germany 1935**

Trowa groaned, opened one eye gingerly, ignoring his thumping headache. He had been an idiot allowing himself to be captured. What had happened to his ability to stay hidden and merge into the background? He had always been able to become whatever or whoever he needed to be, depending on his mission. He should have not been noticed as anyone out of the ordinary, let alone perceived as a threat.

"Are you all right?" The voice was a light tenor, very quiet, but full of concern.

"Fine." Trowa felt his head; the sizeable bump would take a while to go down. It was his own fault, allowing himself to be distracted to the point that someone was able to walk up behind him and knock him out without even a struggle.

"No, you're not."

"I think I know how I feel," Trowa replied, a little more sharply than he had intended. Pulling himself up into a sitting position, he examined his surroundings. He was in a cell, the concrete behind him cold against his back; the steel bars of the remaining three walls reminding him more of a cage. The cot he was on was hard, a thin mattress, no pillow and a threadbare grey blanket.

To his left in the adjacent cell, a man was watching. He was blond, eyes neither blue nor green but shifting between the two, of slim build and…Trowa's breath hitched as he recognized him. This was Professor H's test subject, Trowa's own mission objective. Trowa had seen him before; observation was an important part of any type of information gathering, but the first time Trowa had been shown the blond's photo, he had felt drawn to him although he had no idea why.

The man smiled. "You're very stubborn. It's a trait they don't appreciate here." He frowned. "You were watching me. I felt you."

"Felt me?" The parameters of this assignment had been unusual to say the least. But, the Nazi faction was gaining power in Germany, and rumours that they were successfully experimenting with people who possessed psychic abilities was not something that could be ignored. The potential of this research was too disturbing, too dangerous, even if this man did not seem particularly much of a threat. But, Trowa knew from experience that looks could be very deceiving.

The man swallowed and shifted. He wasn't sitting on his cot, but instead was in a half crouch against the wall, hugging his knees. "When they were…" He turned his head away. "You were watching me."

Trowa had been watching him, seen him wince when he had been injected, heard the screams as whatever had been in the syringe had taken effect. Trowa had tried to get to him, to help, but had failed. The pain had been excruciating, but Trowa's frustration and inability had hurt far more.

Oh god. He had felt the blond's pain. Memories and clarity hit together, vying for attention. Trowa held his head in his hands. He had been on his knees, wanting it to stop, not even knowing what /it/ was. That was why he hadn't heard the guards approaching, why he had been overpowered so easily.

But he couldn't feel another's pain. That was impossible, the stuff of nightmarish fairy tales.

"I'm sorry, Trowa." The blond's voice was hoarse. "No one's ever been able to feel me before." His eyes widened, his expression turning to fear. "They must not find out. Promise me they won't. Please."

"How do you know my name? Who are you?" Trowa edged closer to the bars that separated them. He had been led to believe that this man was a volunteer, not a captive.

"Quatre." Quatre closed his eyes. He was rocking back and forth. "I have to get out of here. They want to do terrible things and I can't help them. I won't help them. I'm scared. I don't know how much longer I can hide from them."

"I'll do what I can," Trowa promised, knowing that with those words he had crossed the line between an assignment and this being personal. All he knew was that he had to save Quatre, that Quatre needed him. And that he needed Quatre.

Needed him?

Quatre's head came up. He eyes glazed over, his face a blank canvas. "Promise?"

"I promise."

A door opened, the noise of the rusty hinges sending a chill down Trowa's spine. He closed his eyes, and lay still, forcing himself not to react when they dragged Quatre from his cell.

/Please. Trowa./

The words echoed in Trowa's mind, Quatre reaching out to him somehow, clinging to him. Instinctively Trowa reached back, trying to hang onto Quatre, to keep him safe in their own private universe.

Tried and failed.

The silence echoed through the cellblock, the footsteps long since faded by the time Trowa opened his eyes again. He stood, ignoring his blurred vision, not taking the time to give into his unshed tears. It had been years since he had cried; he would not start now.

Not while he had a promise to keep.

"I'm coming, Quatre," he whispered. "Whatever it takes, I'm coming for you."

********

He hurt. Everything hurt. Quatre closed his eyes and forced himself to remain limp as the guards returned him to his cell. The first few times he had struggled. It had not been a good idea. The bruises had taken weeks to fade and his tormenters had targeted his injuries in their next interrogation.

Trowa was frustrated, Quatre could feel it. Although Trowa had promised to do what he could, Quatre wasn't sure that would be enough. Trowa had been the first person to show concern since Quatre had arrived here a year ago, but instead of the relief it should be, it only added to his fears. Trowa could feel him. That had never happened before. And, in return, Quatre was aware of Trowa more strongly than he had ever been of anyone else.

If their captors found out, they could and would use it against Quatre, against both of them. Quatre was almost at the end of his reserves. He knew it would not take much to make him slip, or crack. A few times over the past week, he had come close to it during the 'training' sessions. There was no way in hell Quatre would allow himself to undergo training to be used as a weapon, and he had said that repeatedly but H still insisted on referring to their meetings as that.

The scientist and his associates only knew that Quatre possessed empathic abilities because he hadn't had a choice. His so-called friend had taken that choice away, together with Quatre's freedom. Obviously money was more of a valued commodity than friendship and trust.

The men holding Quatre stopped at the cell door, threw him in, not worrying whether he hit the floor, and then slammed the door behind them, and left. Waiting a few minutes, he opened his eyes, crawled over to his bed, and pulled himself up onto the lumpy mattress, curling into a ball and hugging himself tightly. It always took him a few minutes to regain some degree of calm, and this time had been so much worse than the last.

"Are you all right?" Trowa asked quietly. Quatre shook his head, too tired to be bothered pretending. "When we get out of here I will kill them."

"We can't get out of here," Quatre said hoarsely. "I've tried. It's too well guarded and they treasure their potential weapon too well to risk losing it."

"You're not an 'it'." Trowa was angry although his voice was calm. "I promised that I would do what I could. I don't lie."

"Everyone lies, Trowa." Quatre shook his head, groaning when the movement caused more pain. Fuck these damn drugs. It would take at least another hour before everything stopped hurting. "Even if it's just to ourselves." He sighed. "That's what hope is, a lie we cling onto because we need it to survive."

Trowa walked over to the bars separating them, and sat on the floor, studying Quatre for a moment. "If hope is a lie, what does that make faith?"

"What kind of a question is that?" Quatre frowned.

"How do you define faith?" Trowa appeared thoughtful.

"Knowing something will happen, I guess." Quatre shrugged, unsure where Trowa was going with this line of questioning. "Even if you can't see it."

"It's also deciding to do something by stepping out and taking a chance." Trowa's eyes unfocused for a moment as though lost in a memory. "When I was a child, I climbed onto a roof after a kitten. It was very high, and it wasn't until I got to the top that I looked down and realised just how far away from the ground I was. I froze, too scared to move."

"What happened?" asked Quatre, moving off the bed to sit next to Trowa. Although the cold steel still separated them, he felt closer than he had to another person for a very long time.

"My sister talked me down." Trowa smiled, the emotion attached to the memory flooding Quatre, giving him a lightness he hadn't felt in months. Quatre threaded his fingers around the bars between them, fighting the urge to reach out and touch Trowa, like a moth craving a flame. "She told me just to take one small step at a time. If I focused on that, the rest would take care of themselves." Trowa's fingers brushed Quatre's. "I learnt that day just how important it is to have faith in myself, that I was the only person who could take those steps. Although she encouraged me, I did it myself, and trusted my instincts."

"I don't trust my instincts anymore." Quatre shook his head, but didn't remove his hand. "Someone I trusted betrayed me, and now I'm scared of betraying myself."

"What happened?" Trowa asked softly.

"Paul and I grew up together. He was my closest friend, and he knew things about me that others didn't." Quatre swallowed, the memory still painful. "I…" He cleared his throat. "The Nazis were looking for volunteers for this facility, people with certain abilities. They approached me, and said they knew I could help them. That information could only have come from one person."

"He told them?"

Quatre nodded, thankful that he hadn't told Paul everything. But then, his other abilities had only begun manifesting themselves a short time before he was taken. "He was the only one who knew."

"They didn't take no for an answer, did they?" Trowa pursed his lips, and stroked Quatre's hand through the bars, his touch cool against Quatre's skin. Trowa was genuinely concerned, not just prodding for information. He also hadn't asked Quatre what his ability was. That would come and with it the reaction. It was why Quatre had never told anyone other than Paul, but even he had recoiled, and started making excuses not to spend time together. In hindsight, Quatre berated himself for taking the risk, but he had been desperate to tell someone, to reassure himself that he wasn't some kind of freak. But, all he had done was to confirm his fears.

"I didn't even get the chance to run." Quatre sighed. "Either they anticipated my response, or someone warned them. I refused and they accused me of stealing a family heirloom belonging to one of their superiors. Naturally I denied it, and pointed out I had no reason to steal anything as my family was well off. They searched the house anyway, found it, and arrested me. The only cell I've seen is this one, and I'm fairly certain they told my family I was shot trying to escape." He had overheard H and one of his associates discussing his case when they thought him unconscious.

"They never had any intention of letting you go." Trowa shook his head, frowning. "You have psychic abilities, don't you? When you said you felt me, you meant it. That's why I can feel you too, you're projecting somehow."

Quatre lowered his gaze, unable to look at Trowa directly, not wanting to see his reaction. "Yes," he whispered, suddenly remembering what he had told Trowa earlier. "I'm sorry. I don't know why you can feel me. That's never happened before." Quatre withdrew his hand from Trowa's. Touch increased his ability. His tormentors had learnt that very quickly. "Who are you?" He wanted to trust Trowa, but he was scared. It wouldn't be the first time someone had been sent to him on the pretext of being a friend to try and get him to drop his guard. But, no one had ever admitted to feeling him before. It scared him.

"I know you don't trust me." Trowa sighed, his eyes fixed on Quatre. "I'm not sure I would if our situations were reversed." He paused and Quatre cringed. It was as though his soul was bared, that he couldn't hide. He wanted to trust Trowa so badly. "You already knew who I am without me telling you. What else are you hiding, Quatre?"

"If I tell you, it places you in more danger. They will do to you what they do to me if they suspect, and I can't let them hurt you." Quatre pulled his legs up to his chest, hugging himself. He always felt cold afterwards, his nerve endings becoming desensitised again, returning to normal. "You still haven't told me who you are. They haven't got any listening devices in here. I wouldn't have talked to you if they did."

"I know," Trowa said. "I already checked this cell while you were gone, and I've seen enough to realise you are very careful." He smiled at Quatre. /I am not about to betray you./

Oh God.

He knew. Quatre thought frantically, trying to remember what he had done, how Trowa had guessed.

/Please, Trowa/

Quatre had begged, had projected those thoughts to Trowa, even though no one had ever heard him before. "You know," Quatre said, his voice flat. "If they find out you can hear me, they will use you too." He wet his lips. "Are you….are you like me?"

"I don't know. You are the only one I can hear." Trowa looked sheepish. "I wasn't even sure I could; I did that on a whim, not expecting to get a response. I felt foolish for even attempting it."

"Oh." Quatre was not usually this careless. What the hell was wrong with him? He bit his lip. "They only know about the empathy. They will view this as a weapon they can use. I've been hiding it from them. I can't risk them finding out. They will never let us go."

"They have no intentions of letting you go, anyway."

"If they don't find out you still have a chance." Quatre didn't believe the words even as he spoke them. Trowa was now a security leak. "You still haven't told me why you are here." He gestured to the uniform Trowa wore. "That uniform came from somewhere. I doubt you are working alone."

"I am working for someone but this is a deep cover operation. Once the infiltration was complete, I was on my own." Trowa was quiet for a moment. "I can't tell you anymore than that. I'm sorry."

"I understand." Quatre smiled sadly. The less they knew about the other, the less they could reveal under torture. Trowa already knew far more than he should, but Quatre would not press for information again. He reached out for Trowa empathically, needing to feel him, feel someone one last time. "I don't know how much longer I can hold out. They're coming for me more frequently, and I'm losing my resistance to the drugs."

"You trust me now," Trowa said suddenly. "Why?"

"As much as I can," Quatre admitted, unsure whether his change of heart was desperation, or the fact that Trowa had touched him in some way. There was something different about Trowa, a connection between them that Quatre could no longer ignore. "For as long as I can."

"I said that I wouldn't betray you," Trowa reminded him.

"Not intentionally." Quatre shuddered. "I have experienced first hand what they can do. They learn from their mistakes, work out your weaknesses, and exploit them."

"I will not be your weakness."

"You already are," Quatre said, speaking his thoughts aloud. "I can't survive without people, Trowa. I need them; it's part of who I am. Surrounded by those who don't feel, I am dying. It's only a matter of time." He walked back to his bed, turning to give Trowa one last smile. "They are coming. If they find us talking it gives them more of an advantage." His voice softened. "I wish I'd met you under different circumstances. I would have liked to have been your friend, and honoured if you wanted to be mine."

"Don't say goodbye to me, Quatre." Trowa followed Quatre's lead, but sat on the floor by his bed. "I know what you are trying to do." Quatre found himself meeting Trowa's eyes, mesmorised by them. They were a beautiful shade of green and reminded him of trees near his home. It had been so long since he had seen the trees, the sky, or even a blade of grass. The cell had no windows.

"I am trying to keep you alive." In a different time and place, Trowa would have given Quatre all he needed to live. But, this was here and now, and Quatre would do the only thing he could to protect the one person who had shown him kindness.

Footsteps sounded at the outer door of the cellblock. Trowa was on his feet instantly. Quatre didn't move. There was no point. If they wanted him they would have to come and get him.

Quatre closed his eyes, rolling over towards the wall, grasping the worn blanket between his fingers. Fuck this. Damn them all to hell. He didn't want the pain. It was too much. He couldn't do this again. He couldn't!

The cell door opened. Taking a deep breath Quatre opened his eyes and slid off the bed, deciding that he didn't want to play this role in front of Trowa. No, he would go this last time with as much dignity as he could muster.

What the hell? They were taking Trowa. They couldn't! Please, god. No.

"What are you doing?" Quatre croaked, his calm façade gone in the instant of realisation.

The guard smirked at him. "H decided to play with your friend here instead, this time. I'm sure he has a few secrets of his own. Everyone has secrets, don't they, Winner?"

Trowa kept his face down, not giving anything away. His shoulders were slumped, the picture of subservience. It was an act. It had to be. He held out his hands, let them restrain him, and followed them from the cell.

Something brushed against Quatre's mind and heart. A strange calm like he had never felt before, hope and faith.

Quatre watched them leave, stood and did nothing. Felt nothing.

Finally, it was quiet, the footsteps gone. He walked over to the bars separating the cells and threaded his fingers through the steel; they were cold. Pulling his knees up, he did something he had not done in months. He let go and cried.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See Chapter One for notes etc.

"What is your name?"

Two men held Trowa down while a third asked the questions. So far Trowa had refused to answer and they were losing patience. Initial politeness had not served them well at all; it had been too easy to focus on a section of wall and ignore them. Now, his interrogator punctuated each question with a blow to Trowa's stomach.

Trowa gritted his teeth, determined not to give them anything they wanted. The room was small and windowless, which meant they were either underground or deep inside the centre area of the old castle. He was still on the same level as the cellblock.

"Who are you working for?"

Trowa grunted, unable to keep the sound from escaping his lips. He fought the urge to vomit, and ignored the pain in his ribs. These men were good, and obviously experienced.

"Stop," the man in charge ordered. "This is getting us nowhere." He shook his head and spoke to the guard standing at the door. "Tell H to send one of his special injections. I'm sure our friend here will have almost as much tolerance as H's pet subject. I wonder if he will scream as loudly."

He was referring to Quatre. Trowa stiffened, and reached out to make sure Quatre was all right, before he realised what he was doing. Quatre's presence had been growing since they had met. If Trowa closed his eyes, he could imagine that Quatre was in the same room with him, see the sad smile on his lips, feel the pain in his heart. These bastards had hurt Quatre, and taken delight in their work.

The interrogator smirked. "Would you talk to save another, I wonder? Winner's much too stubborn for his own good, and so are you." He slapped Trowa across the face, hard. Trowa spat at him, blood mixing with saliva. "A reaction. How interesting. Maybe we won't need that injection after all." He paused. "Hold him still."

Pulling Trowa's head up by his hair, the man smiled, his breath hot and foul against Trowa's cheek. "I am going to explain to you just what this injection will do. It is then up to you whether you cooperate or not." He shrugged when Trowa said nothing. "Or we can show you what it does. I'm sure Winner will put on a good performance for you, given the right incentive."

Pain shot through Trowa; it was as though all his nerve endings were on fire. But, the men had not touched him. Trowa licked his lips. They were dry. "What is this injection? What does it do?"

Burning heat followed by ice cold. Trowa struggled to breathe, bit his lip to stop crying out, to not betray Quatre's trust. Something had happened to Quatre. Trowa could feel his friend's pain.

Friend? Quatre had said that under different circumstances he would have been honoured to be Trowa's friend. The honour was Trowa's. He didn't connect to people, preferring to stay in the shadows, immersing himself in the roles he played. It was what he was good at, and had made him in demand for this kind of mission. But Quatre had got under Trowa's skin, connected with him even before they had met. The photo had been enough.

"I do believe it might be more effective to show you." The interrogator pulled Trowa's head back further, and then let go. "Bring him. Winner will not cooperate to save himself, but he might for someone else."

Trowa refused to be used against Quatre. Another wave of pain shot through him and his legs gave way. God, what where they doing to Quatre? Reaching out again, Trowa felt an answering touch against his consciousness. It was weak, growing weaker, but definitely Quatre.

"Scared?" The interrogator seemed amused by Trowa's struggle to stay upright. "It's amazing how some people don't flinch at physical harm, but are terrified by the thought of a needle." He grinned. "You should be. This drug is marvelous. It increases the sensations in your nerve endings, magnifies everything you feel by five hundred fold, or so I've been told. The more often it's used, the lower your resistance to it. I'm surprised Winner has held out this long. It's amusing to watch him react to it, especially now he knows what to expect. Fear is a beautiful thing, a tool to be treasured."

"Bastard," Trowa muttered. The word was rewarded with another blow to his stomach.

"Now, now. Manners. You know nothing about me. However, I will know everything about you very shortly. Your name. Why you are here. Who you are working for. Your weaknesses. Each and every one of them." The man paused. "However, although I prefer the personal touch, I believe H is waiting for you. He is very eager to make your acquaintance."

A snap of fingers and Trowa was dragged down the corridor, the guards stopping only when they reached a very familiar door. This was the place where Trowa had been captured. Quatre was inside. He was crying, calling for help, even though he wasn't making a sound.

Going limp, Trowa decided to feign unconsciousness. It wasn't much of an edge, but it was the only option left. It would also give him time to size up the situation, find any weaknesses he could exploit. If there was any chance of getting himself and Quatre out of this hellhole he would take it. These experiments were inhuman. His orders had been to observe, find any information he could and leave before he was discovered. Fuck the mission. This was more important. Quatre was more important.

The door opened. An older man in a white coat looked up and smiled. He was well-built, with a thin mustache, which he was twirling thoughtfully between his thumb and forefinger.

On a cot directly in front of him lay Quatre, a woman standing over him, about to attach electrodes to his temples. As Trowa was thrown into the room, Quatre turned his head and the blood drained from his face. /God. No. No. No./

Trowa pulled himself to his feet, his plan forgotten the instant he saw Quatre. The blond was restrained to the cot by the leather straps holding his arms, legs and torso. His shirt was unbuttoned, and there were thin red lines covering his chest, blood running down them to pool in his navel. Knife wounds, recently made, raw and angry. Quatre's face was bruised, his lip split open, his shirt sleeve rolled up and an ugly bruise forming on the inside of his forearm.

"Trowa," he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. /Get out. Get out. Get out!/

/I'm not leaving you./ Trowa glanced around the room, frantically searching for a weapon. There had to be something. Anything.

"How nice to meet you," H beamed. "I do hope you can help me. You see, our mutual friend here is not being terribly cooperative. It's a shame really. I would hate to cause him any permanent damage, especially as he has the potential to be so valuable to our cause."

Trowa took two steps, paused, pretended to lose his footing, rolled into a ball as he fell, and came up by the tray of instruments that had been used on Quatre. Grabbing a knife, he leapt into the air, somersaulted and landed behind H. Pressing the knife to H's throat, Trowa pulled him close. Another reason why Trowa was sought after for certain missions was his acrobatic abilities. His family had been circus performers before they had been killed in an accident, leaving Trowa the only survivor.

"Tell them to let Quatre go, or I will kill you," Trowa hissed. The guards who had thrown Trowa into the room, took a step towards him, and stopped.

"You'll kill me anyway." H shrugged although the knife was at his throat. He smiled at Quatre. "I see you've made a friend. How interesting." His voice grew cold. "Finish it."

The woman who had been standing over Quatre held a needle. Where the hell had it come from? Trowa cursed himself for missing it. Leaning over quickly, she plunged it into Quatre's arm. Quatre hissed, and bit his lip.

"What did she do?" Trowa pressed the knife against H's skin, feeling the warmth of blood against his fingers. Damn it! Damn it! "I told them I'll kill you!"

H laughed, seemingly not bothered by his wound. "Ah yes, but I'm expendable, your friend is not. Given those parameters, your threat does not carry much weight. If I die, someone merely steps into my shoes and continues my work."

"Trowa!" Quatre's eyes rolled back in his head, his body shaking. Trowa felt Quatre reach for him, the room spun, the knife dropping from nerveless fingers. Dropping to his knees, Trowa dry heaved; the pain was excruciating. Dimly, he was aware of someone screaming.

It wasn't Quatre.

Struggling to pull himself to his feet, Trowa crawled over to Quatre's cot, attempted to undo the leather restraints, but couldn't. What was wrong with him? Quatre was convulsing, his body twitching in some kind of spasm.

Someone grabbed Trowa from behind. There was a sharp pain in his arm, and he fell, calling Quatre's name as everything went black.

******

Quatre closed his eyes, focusing on Trowa, needing to make sure he was all right. The drug that had taken him down was one that Quatre was familiar with. But then he had personal knowledge of most of the drugs in H's arsenal. H enjoyed experimenting, seeing which drug was the most effective for whatever result suited his whim at that particular moment. He had also taken great pleasure in reminding Quatre of the side effects of what Trowa had been injected with.

"You have connected with him," H observed. "Good, good. This makes things so much better."

"I have not connected with him," Quatre said testily, opening his eyes to glare at H. Trowa was still unconscious, but wouldn't be for much longer. This particular cocktail worked quickly to subdue a difficult test subject, but seemed to burn out rapidly, leaving its victim shaking and with a severe headache.

"I am not an idiot," H shook his head. "I observed the way in which you interacted with him, and he with you. You care for him, and I suspect that the sentiment is not one sided." He paused, thoughtful. "He also seemed to be aware of your pain. This is something definitely worth pursuing."

Trowa shifted against his restraints, mumbling something under his breath. H's assistants had placed the cot Trowa was on next to Quatre but not close enough that they would have been able to touch, even if they hadn't been restrained. However, Quatre suspected their captors would be watching them carefully to see how they reacted to each other's pain stimulation. H had told Quatre months ago that everyone reached their limits eventually and at that stage would do anything to cooperate. Quatre had no intention of becoming what they wished him to be; a trained performing animal carrying out designated tasks efficiently and without question. He would rather die first.

But, now that decision did not just affect him. Since the last two injections of the nerve stimulant, Quatre's psychic connection with Trowa had grown stronger to the extent that if one died, what would happen to the other? Quatre hoped that as the drug faded, so too would this, but he was scared, not for himself, but for Trowa.

"He does not possess my ability," Quatre told H, knowing that the scientist would not believe him. Quatre was well aware of what the Nazis were planning, and he would not place his life or that of someone he…Quatre bit his lip. He would not assist the Nazis to commit genocide.

At least, not of his own free will. With each session it became more of a temptation to give up one kind of freedom in exchange for another. To be free of the pain, all he had to do was work with his captors, not against them. After all, sacrifices had to be made for the greater good of humanity.

But, Quatre wasn't human. They had made that very clear. His abilities made him no better than those they wished to cleanse from the earth. He would be tolerated as a means to an end, and once he outlived his usefulness, he too, would be dealt with appropriately. Naturally, Quatre had not been told that, but his captors had no idea they had a mind reader in their possession. Empathy, while having its uses, would pale in comparison to the potential of that ability.

And in turn, that would open the door to something else very much more potentially dangerous. A weapon that, once unleashed, would guarantee the success of their agenda.

Trowa groaned and opened his eyes. They were blood shot, and he appeared to be having problems focusing. His body twitched once, and then twice. He was struggling to remain calm, Quatre could feel it. /Quatre?/

Even through his pain and disorientation, Trowa had still enough foresight not to speak aloud. He was angry, both at his captors and himself.

/I'm here, Trowa./ Quatre kept his gaze focused on H, unflinching. It was important that H didn't suspect there was anything more than a shared empathic sense between his prisoners. Trowa needed time to recover from the after effects of the drugs.

"Welcome back to the land of the living." H's voice was cheery; it was one of his more annoying qualities. "I am very much looking forward to getting to know you better." His voice hardened, and he picked up a knife from his instrument tray. The same knife Trowa had used. "Unlike you though, I do not threaten death. Not when there are other more interesting alternatives."

Quatre swallowed, fought to remain calm. If he begged H not to hurt Trowa, it would provide all the ammunition needed to control him. Trowa was not Quatre's weakness, but his strength. Frantically he reached for Trowa empathically, only to find his own panic returned and magnified. H moved closer, stood between them and smiled.

Running the blade of the knife down his finger, but not hard enough to break the skin, H leaned over Quatre, held the weapon against his throat and pressed. Quatre lay still, not daring to move. His skin burned as the knife edged a slow line, matching the one Trowa had given H.

"I'm the one who hurt you," Trowa hissed. "Let him go."

"Let go of someone with his abilities?" H shook his head. Although he was using the knife on Quatre, it was Trowa he was watching, waiting to see if one could feel the other's pain. "Not while there are so many more possibilities to explore."

The knife pressed harder. Quatre bit back a groan. God, it hurt. Beside him, Trowa lay still, unmoving, even though Quatre could feel an echo of his own pain through their connection.

H smiled and removed the knife, not bothering to staunch the flow of blood. After all, it would clot on its own, given time. Preparing another injection, he smiled at Quatre. "Mixing these in the right combination will give the results I want." He sighed. "I see your new friend shares your stubbornness. It is a trait we do not encourage here."

"You will not hurt him," Quatre hissed between gritted teeth. There was no way in hell he would let H hurt Trowa anymore. "I will not allow it." Taking a deep breath, he struggled to calm himself, to focus. It was bad enough to be trapped here in this living hell, but Trowa had done nothing; his only crime was reaching out to Quatre. Trowa still had the chance of a normal life, at least until H's suspicions were confirmed.

"You will not allow it?" H laughed. "You are in no position to threaten me, Winner. Nor do you have the right." Shifting the syringe to his left hand, he slapped Quatre across the face hard, reopening the cut on his lip. "I've already warned you before what would happen if you did not remember your place." His voice took on a hard edge. "Tell me your place."

"Go to hell," Quatre said, turning his head away. They had played this game before. Quatre had never given in. He was not about to now.

"Lay a hand on him again and I will kill you," Trowa said calmly. One of his hands was twitching, another side effect of the drugs he had already been given.

Rolling his eyes, H snorted. "Both of you are delusional. I am in control here. You are restrained and will remain so until I decide otherwise." He tapped the syringe, watching the cloudy liquid settle. Quatre stared at it, recognising it all too well.

"No!" He wouldn't allow this. He couldn't. Trowa was already in pain; the nerve enhancer would magnify that into a living hell. Pulling against his restraints, Quatre let out a cry of frustration. "Let him go!" To hell with the consequences, he had to get Trowa out of here, get him out of here now.

H plunged the needle into Trowa's arm.

Trowa hissed. His eyes widened. "Oh God!" He began to struggle, desperate to free himself. "Quatre. Please. God. No."

Beside him, Quatre began to shake, convulse, his lips forming a silent scream. His head felt as though it was on fire, nerve endings reforming, connecting, fed by pain and need. He screamed again, this time out loud.

The leather straps holding Trowa to the bed began to undo as though by an invisible force. H took a step forward.

Quatre shook his head, his mind suddenly clearer than it had been in months. He could feel Trowa, really feel him, his presence allowing Quatre a focus he had sought but never been able to achieve. H really had had no idea of just what abilities his victim possessed.

Until now.

"Quatre?" Trowa sat up, his arms free, and quickly began to undo his remaining restraints. H stared, frozen, glancing between them.

There had been enough pain, enough suffering at the hands of this monster. "How dare you judge what is human when you have no humanity yourself?" Quatre demanded. H's desire to discover if Quatre could feel Trowa's pain had worked a little too well. With their connection raw and open, the drug racing through both of them, desperation to protect someone he cared for was driving Quatre, giving him that much needed edge that before now had always been just out of reach.

It was the difference between taking control and being controlled, between power and pain.

Something inside Quatre snapped, and with it, his ability to think rationally. A voice inside his mind begged him to stay calm. He shook his head. There was a time for calm. This was not it.

Quatre smiled. His restraints parted allowing him the freedom he craved. He forced himself into a sitting position, ignoring the way the room spun and his vision darkened. Weakness would not be tolerated. "You wanted to use me. You tried to hurt Trowa." Quatre raised his hand. H went flying, hitting the wall behind him with a dull thud, test tubes full of samples, of blood, smashing onto the floor.

Their torturer whimpered. "Don't hurt me. Please."

The echo of feet against concrete sounded behind Quatre, the lab assistants running for the door. It slammed before they reached it, trapping them. "Don't you think it's a bit late for that?" Quatre asked.

"If you do this, it will be too late for you," Trowa walked over to stand beside Quatre. "You have more humanity in you than he will ever have. Killing him confirms his beliefs."

"He hurt me. Over and over." Quatre frowned. He was tired. It was difficult to think. "He won't stop until we are both dead. Why should I let him live?"

/Please. We walk away now. You can't risk freedom for revenge./ Trowa laid a hand on Quatre's arm. Quatre shook it off.

"I can help you," H begged. "You have more power than we dreamed. I can teach you to use it, harness it for the greater good of humanity." He dragged himself to his knees, his eyes pleading. He was lying. Quatre could feel it.

"I don't want your power." Quatre's voice rose. "I don't want anything you offer. Leave me alone!"

"I'll leave you alone," H agreed. "You can't let this ability go to waste. It could make the difference, save the world from the evil that threatens it. Can't you see that?"

"I am that evil." Quatre heard himself speaking, as though from a distance. "Put the gun down!" he ordered the man behind them.

Metal hit the floor. Trowa bent, and picked up the gun. "We're leaving," he announced, glancing around the room. The only door was behind them. There was no other way out.

The room was spinning again. Quatre reached for Trowa both physically and psychically, drawing on his energy to keep himself upright, to fuel his ability. They were running out of time.

/I know a way out. If we can reach it we'll be safe./

"Safe?" Quatre looked at Trowa blankly. It was becoming difficult to focus. He was tired, the pain was too much. This ability was draining him. It was not one he would ever be able to use for long.

"Safe." Again, Trowa placed his hand on Quatre's arm. This time Quatre didn't remove it. Touch increased his ability; it would help him to tap into what Trowa offered. /We need to go before it's too late./ He pointed the gun at H. "Maybe I should just shoot you? It will probably be less painful. I've heard that brain matter is extremely difficult to clean off the wall, and you've made Quatre very angry."

/Where?/ Quatre swallowed, his throat filling with bile. He felt sick, realization dawning of what he had almost done.

/The wall to our right./ Trowa's grip on Quatre's arm tightened. Quatre fought the urge to lean against Trowa. Showing weakness would give their enemy the advantage. /Above the grill. There's a passage behind it. It leads outside./

"I'm very angry," Quatre said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Follow and I will destroy you and everything here." He turned to face the wall. /I think I can do this, but once I do you'll have to get us out. I don't have much energy left./

/Do it./ Trowa covered Quatre with the gun. One of the lab technicians moved towards the door. Trowa shot him in the leg. "Just remember, if you make me angry, you make Quatre angry. I'm sure you don't want that."

The small group edged towards the door, leaving their fallen comrade, glancing nervously at Quatre.

He swallowed, and took a step towards the wall, focusing his ability, imagining a hole where there was none. Brick and mortar began to crumble. Quatre began to shake. It was becoming difficult to breathe.

Just a bit more. Nearly there. He wouldn't go back to being H's lab rat. He couldn't.

The floor underneath them shook. A beaker fell to the floor, chemicals mixing, igniting. Flames filled the air.

There was the sound of rumbling as though from a distance. Quatre's vision blurred. Arms grabbed him from behind, lifted him into the air.

He screamed.

And knew no more.


	3. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See Chapter one for notes.

Quatre groaned and mumbled something under his breath, but didn't open his eyes. Trowa strengthened his grip around Quatre's waist, and leaned back against the wall of the shack, Quatre secure in his embrace.

Even now, two hours after they had escaped, Quatre was still unconscious, but at least his breathing had steadied into something almost regular. It had not been easy getting out of the castle, but luckily the smoke caused by the fire had given Trowa the cover he needed. Seeing Quatre collapse, Trowa had moved quickly, grabbing Quatre before he reached the floor, lifted him into his arms, and ran. Once they reached the door to the secret passage, Trowa had opened it, dived in, and closed it behind him. His heart had been thumping, his breath coming in gasps and he had been sure that noise alone would have ensured their discovery.

They had been very fortunate, but Trowa still could not shake his fear for Quatre's wellbeing. More and more Trowa found himself reaching out through their empathic connection to reassure himself that he could still feel Quatre. As the drugs wore off, the pain Trowa had felt, faded, but his connection with Quatre did not. But then, that seemed to have been initiated when they first met, what they had been given only serving to strengthen it. Stroking Quatre's brow, Trowa sighed. He had never felt this way about another person before. It scared him.

If he had feelings for someone, he ran the risk of being hurt, of losing them, just like he had lost his parents and his sister.

But, he had almost lost Quatre already.

Trowa shook his head. This was crazy. They had only just met. He didn't even know Quatre. He was…had been an assignment, nothing more.

Quatre groaned again, shifting in Trowa's arms. "It's all right. I've got you," Trowa whispered, repeating the words in his mind.

"Where am I?" Quatre opened his eyes with a start, glancing around the shack, almost frantically. He felt scared even though he was trying to hide it. Frowning, his gaze finally fixed on Trowa. "Trowa?"

"I'm here." Trowa stroked Quatre's hair, blond strands damp and oily under his fingertips. He wondered when the last time had been that Quatre had been allowed to bath properly.

"They used a bucket of cold water twice a week." Quatre closed his eyes, leaning back into Trowa's embrace. "I'm sorry, you were thinking very loudly." He shivered. "Are we safe?"

"We're as safe as we can be." Trowa had never been good at sugar coating the truth. "This place is only known to a few, and I would trust them with my life." He had hung the curtain over the window shortly after their arrival. The arrangement was that the shack would be checked at twenty four hour intervals, and if the signal was in place, a team would be sent in. All they had to do was wait and hope like hell that no one else found them first. Trowa had no idea what time it was or how long that wait would be; he had lost his sense of time while in captivity and it had been dark when they had fled the castle.

"I'm putting you in danger." Quatre struggled to stand, but he was too weak. "They will keep looking until they find me. I can't allow…"

Trowa shook his head, pulling Quatre back onto his lap. "We are in this together. I promised to do what I could, and this is something I can do." If they were discovered by H's men, he would fight to the death if needed to protect Quatre. "You won't get far in your condition. Your energy levels have been drained. You need to rest." He shook his head. "They are looking for both of us, Quatre. Not just you. We stand a better chance of surviving if we stay together."

"I'm sorry." Quatre sighed. "You tried to help me and I haven't done a very good job in repaying that." He lowered his voice, his hand coming up to caress Trowa's face. "You're the first friend I've had in such a long time."

Leaning into Quatre's touch instinctively, Trowa smiled. "I'm a loner usually. You're the first friend I've had in long time too." He could get used to this so very easily. It was important to stay focused on the task at hand. Brushing back Quatre's hair from his face, Trowa was quiet for a moment before continuing. "Your telekinetic ability is not usually as strong, is it?"

"I've never been able to do that before." Quatre shook his head. "Once, I managed to get a stone to move across the floor but it made me too tired." He frowned. "You made the difference. It was as though I could draw on your energy to supplement mine, and your presence helped me focus."

"Do you think it was the drugs?" Trowa tried to remember what he had been briefed about psychic abilities. His superiors had no idea that Quatre had abilities this powerful. If Trowa had his way, that would not change. H had suffered from illusions of grandeur, convinced that he could use drugs to enhance his human guinea pigs into something they were not. He had been mistaken. His experiments had failed and would continue to fail. Nothing was left of the lab, and a part of Trowa hoped that H had died in the fire.

"Maybe." Quatre shrugged. "They were designed to increase sensation in nerve endings. The human brain is full of them, and we were both given the drug." He reached into the pocket of his trousers and took out a small stone, placing it on the floor. "This is the stone I managed to move four months ago."

Taking Trowa's hand, Quatre closed his eyes and focused. Nothing happened. Frowning, he focused again. The stone edged across the dirt floor of the shack, and stopped.

"You're tired," Trowa pointed out.

"That's as far as I got it to move last time." Quatre leaned over and put the stone back in his pocket. "I'm not sure I can do anything more. I'm not sure I want to either. There are too many uses for it that could be dangerous in the wrong hands." His ability had been magnified due to drugs, fear, and need.

"They won't believe you."

"I know." Quatre didn't let go of Trowa's hand. "The only way we will ever be safe again is to disappear and start new lives. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Trowa turned Quatre so that they were facing. "I have friends who can help us disappear." His superiors could be told that the mission had gone completely wrong, that both of them were dead. The shack could have been empty, the curtain a false alarm.

"Us?" Quatre was watching Trowa carefully. He licked his lips nervously, reaching out for Trowa empathically in a light caress.

Trowa nodded slowly. "Us," he said, placing his hand over Quatre's heart. "We are connected now. I don't want to lose that, to lose you."

"What is it you want, Trowa?" Quatre's voice was barely a whisper. He placed his own hand over Trowa's heart.

His sister, Cathy, had told him a long time ago that some opportunities only come once in life. She had also stressed the importance of following dreams. Trowa had thought that his dreams had died with her, and their parents. He had been wrong. This was a second chance and he knew Quatre felt the same way.

"You, Quatre. I want you." Trowa leaned over, his lips brushing Quatre's, kissing him, hesitantly at first and then with more confidence as Quatre responded.

When they broke the kiss both of them were blushing. "That is what I want too, Trowa," Quatre whispered. "I want you. If you will have me."

It was too soon to know whether their relationship would survive, or even whether they would, but whatever time they had, Trowa knew they had to at least try.

Actions had always spoken louder than words. This was no different. Caressing Quatre's cheek, Trowa kissed him again, offering a future and a glimpse, at least for now, of their own private universe.


End file.
